Signs of a Writer by Bonnie Le Hamilton

 

 

It is, at this point, seven weeks since I submitted my manuscript to Entangled Press. I still haven’t heard anything from them. And I’m still praying they’ll say yes.

The problem is, much better writers have been turned down way more times, so the chances of my story being accepted are slim. Ah well. Writing is hard, and trying to sell our stories is even harder.

But I do know that I am a writer.

I read an article the other day that I found on Pinterest which listed ten signs you are a writer. First off, the article was written in 2015 on a blog by The Writing Kylie, so it is on the old side, but very valid.

Let’s go over the list:

#1. You constantly dream about writing or about your story.

                        Definitely.

#2. You absolutely love to read.

Now we all know writers are readers, and yes, I love to read.

#3. You feel doubt.

I honestly couldn’t believe this was on the list, but well, the article put it simply – you only doubt when it matters to you. Boy, do I doubt!

#4. You lose track of time when you write.

And when I read. 😊 It doesn’t have to be a story I’m writing; it just has to be good!

#5. You feel like something is missing when you don’t write.

                        So, that’s my problem!

#6. You are better at working out your thoughts and feelings through writing than talking about them out loud.

Okay, this is not me, but the list isn’t one of those where you have to have all the symptoms either. However, I am way more erudite on paper than orally.

#7. You want to spend more time with fictional characters then you do with real people.

Come on, fictional characters are way easier to deal with, even when they are fighting your ideas for them.

#8. You can’t walk past a bookstore without going inside.

Actually, I can – I’m broke. I refuse to go in because I can’t afford to buy anything. But that’s new stores. I buy them all the time used (along with Nativities). Thrift stores are our friends, and don’t forget Thrift Books!

#9. Your favorite beverage is coffee or tea, preferably in abundance.

Okay, not me or Konnie. And not just because they are against our religion, I don’t like caffeinated drinks. Though I do sometimes drink herbal tea.

#10. You have more notebooks than sheets for your bed.

Duh! I only have two sets of sheets. That’s easy who can live with only two notebooks?

I’m just wondering if there are more signs that a person is supposed to be a writer.

For starters, I’d add to #10 by saying: you always have a notepad and pen with you no matter what.

Or maybe a sign could be that there are creative people all over your family tree.

I’m not talking just writers, but artists of all sorts. Konnie and I have a family tree full of creative people. Do you?

And let’s not forget that very famous writer I found on our family tree. A fellow by the name of William Shakespeare. 😊

Writing is in our blood.

Being creative is who we are. But of course, many writers are the lone wolf in their family, so what is another sign?

Could it be?

            They talk constantly about their characters as if they were real people.

            Who thinks of what happens to their characters or the characters in a story they are reading as being real? I remember once when Konnie complained that two of her daughters were talking about the characters in my manuscript (the one I submitted) so incessantly it was driving Konnie up the wall!

And the thing is, I've done that to some extent with either what I’ve read, or what I’m writing. Have you done it? Then again, isn’t that sort of what #7 is about?

How about, does anyone ever spend hours staring at a blank screen, trying to get the words to flow from your brain to your fingertips?

I hate when that happens, but I think only a true writer would suffer from the “blank-screen” syndrome because only a writer would have doubts and fears about picking the right words to fill it. Only a true writer would freeze when it came to starting a new story.

Don’t you agree?

I think another one might be that only a true writer will edit their work. Only a true writer knows that the first draft is rough and will need a lot of work, and only a writer will bother doing that work. Does anyone disagree?

What would you say is a sign of a true writer?

Anyway, happy writing everyone.

Of Muses and Other Fleeting Things by Konnie Enos

 

I had, after much musing on what I might write for this post, sat down at my computer and started typing. I did not finish.

Why?

Because my husband came in and insisted I immediately leave my computer and assist him with an issue. I attempted to find out what exactly he wanted me to do that required me to leave my computer.

He was somewhat clear in what he wanted but that didn’t really answer the question because I could not see how my going to the front room was going to affect the matter. I reluctantly went to the front room.

I’m pretty sure my husband was expecting my presence to result in the outcome he wanted. I was positive I would have no effect on the outcome and it wouldn’t be what he wanted.

Twenty minutes later and the culmination was pretty much what I expected.

I then, of course, return to my computer as I do need to get my post typed up.

I glance at the page. I’ve not only typed nearly 200 words, but I’d just started typing a word when my husband interrupted. At this point, I have no idea what word I had started to type.

I read the previous sentence. It doesn’t jog my memory.

I go over everything I had typed. Not only is it not jogging my memory. I can no longer grasp the trails of the thought I was attempting to put into words. Not just the missing word, but the entire theme of the post.

I stare at it for some moments but the idea is no longer there. The disturbance has completely erased it and I’m unable to finish the page, let alone the post.

After some effort, I determine to try to relocate my idea or find a new one.

I spend hours on this endeavor. Nothing is coming to me.

My only thoughts are my frustration at being interrupted in the middle of a word.

Every time I have to leave in the middle of a word I find I can’t even remember what the word was let alone the thought I was attempting to expound on.

It generally helps to just start writing, something. Even working on another story helps. So, in desperation, and hoping to release the flow of words, I open up a new document.

I take the time to format it.

I stare at the screen.

I try to think of anything pleasant or funny or important I could write about. I try to find the threads of what I had started to post.

I am getting nowhere.

I browse some more for inspiration with none forthcoming.

Now another thing I’ve been dealing with is Thursday evening my right wrist started hurting. It’s doing better now and I can take off the splint I was given for extended periods without pain.

Guess what? Typing aggravates it. I know how to touch type so, for the most part, it isn’t in my way to have the splint on, but it limits the range of my fingers and I have to move off the home keys to hit backspace, enter, or the shift on my right side. I also can’t hit the ‘/” without moving my hand because my pinky cannot move that far in the splint. If I try to hit the number keys at the top, my wrist is resting on the alt and ctrl buttons and the spacebar.

Yes, that can mess things up.

Now, after hours of fighting this, I’m tired and nowhere near finished with my post.

It is far too late to get my sister to substitute for me. Even if I could, I have no real excuse since I am capable of typing (with some minor accommodations).

I try to think of other options and come up with only one, stream of thought.

Fun, three pages of my ramblings about whatever it is I’m thinking about, but the only thing on my mind is my broken concentration and sore wrist.

Not anything to write about.

So my original idea is scrapped for lack of concentration and my replacement is just everything fleeting across my mind as I sit here trying to figure out if I can even write coherent sentences giving that it’s now the middle of the night and I need sleep.

The plus to typing this late is my family members are either asleep or being quiet so they don’t disturb my daughter, the one who is in bed by 9:30 every night. More specifically the one who has no problem expressing her extreme displeasure at her sleep being disrupted by our lights or talking.

Have you ever had days like this? I know I have.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

Twins and other things by Bonnie Le Hamilton

 

I am a writer, promise, even if most of the writing I’ve done this calendar year has been for this blog.

On the other hand, I am also an avid reader, and so far this year, I’ve read quite a number of books, which for me is enormous because I’m such a slow reader.

Though I have started working on my Sci-Fi again. And no, I don’t mean my sort of Sci-Fi Contemporary Romance, I mean my epic war story Sci-Fi, which is looking to be as big as Konnie’s epic war story Sci-Fi. And believe it or not, the only things those two stories have in common is they are Sci-Fi, they are about war, and their writers are mirror twins.

Oh, I almost forgot, we both have characters in our stories who are identical twins. But who can blame us for having twins in our stories? After all, we know a lot about twins.

Actually, I have both identical and fraternal twins in mine, though technically one of the fraternal twins died before my story begins. The heroine is taking care of her dead twin’s children at the start of my story.

In Konnie’s story, one of her identical twins is hiding just how smart he is, while most of the people around him consider his brother the better catch. In her story, Mr. Smarty-pants worked out a solution to what he considered a minor flaw in their ships engines and in the process eliminated a major disadvantage they had against their enemy, all while Mr. Supposedly-a-good-catch has to deal with more than one mighty big blow to his ego and do a whole lot of growing up.

In mine, what I’ve written so far, the hero and heroine are suffering from the delusion that their twins are better. He thinks his twin is smarter, wiser, and craftier, while she thinks her dead twin is better looking, though she also doesn’t consider all the things she can make means she’s gifted with talent, she considers everything she can do as just everyday stuff. She thinks she’s average.

So, I guess we have that in common in our stories too. We both have sets of twins that have very different personalities. Then again, we know from experience that even twins with a lot in common can have very different personalities.

We are a prime example of that.

I’m known for my temper.

When Konnie loses it; duck for cover! Better yet, pray she’s not mad at you!

The last time I saw her throw a snit, I scurried out of the house as fast as I could and stayed away for a couple of hours just to avoid her laying into me too.

And I think I’ve already mentioned that my (normally) gentle, easy-going twin has used a swear word a grand total of once, even if her kids insist, she never swears.

Once in fifty plus years is not never.

I can’t say the same.

There was a time when I made liberal use of such language. Right up until an English teacher told me that using swear words denotes a minuscule vocabulary.

Anyway, it got to me, because even way back then, I didn’t have a small vocabulary. Thanks to our big sister, nicknamed Dictionary, neither of us has ever had a small vocabulary.

Another difference in us is the men we picked to marry. My dearly departed husband once said he only got along with Jerry because he was married to my twin.

In other words, he forced himself to keep a civil tongue while around Jerry because of Konnie and me.

But Jerry drove Tom up the wall, and he could only stand so much of him before he had to get away from Jerry’s company fast! That is mostly because of how outgoing, and talkative Jerry is, but it also extends to the very different interests and hobbies.

Yeah, those two were like night and day. The only thing they had in common was marrying us.

In fact, Tom was a foot taller than me while Jerry is lucky he found a woman shorter than him to marry. Actually, he managed to find a wife so short that her standing next to him makes him look tall!

While me standing next to my husband would only accentuate how short I am.

And don’t think it hasn’t escaped us that our husbands are Tom and Jerry. We got that a long time ago. After I got over calling her nuts for planning to marry a Navy guy despite my four years of experience married to one.

And let’s not get into our pets or the difference in noise levels in our homes.

Anyway, happy writing everyone!

On Seeing and Reading by Konnie Enos

I’ve worn glasses since fourth grade, with the need to wear bifocals coming shortly thereafter. No. bifocals aren’t just for grandparents. Due to my poor eyesight and my astigmatism, my world quickly became a large blur. Since the members of my family also wore glasses I didn’t have encounters with many people who didn’t understand that I couldn’t see without them.

Then I met my husband.

The first time I realized he didn’t understand my limited vision was after we were married and he asked me how his hair looked. At the time I was in the tub, sans glasses. I mean I could see his general shape but his hair was a blurry mass. As he never got closer than standing by the tub, I could not see if his hair was combed.

This complete lack of understanding my visual limitations has expanded to my children though they do attempt to be more understanding about it.

Now, if you know anything about bifocals, you know that whatever you want to read or see up close, must be positioned at a specific angle for you to see/read them. Because of this, being height-challenged, I cannot share any sort of reading material. For example, I do not share a hymnal at church.

Up until the advent of smartphones and tablets, when someone wanted me to read something they would let me hold it where I could see it. Now, they are reluctant to let go of their phone or tablet so I’m stuck explaining why I can’t see it.

Now I’ve had cataract surgery on both eyes.

Yeah! Better eyesight.

Not so yeah, I still have astigmatism. My distance vision is still blurry and for reading I’m learning the age-old problem of my arms are not long enough. I’m adapting to my temporary less than perfect vision.

I am, however, increasingly frustrated with my family’s insistence that I read or look at something on their tech while they are holding it. None of them, especially my children, understand the position I need to see it because they don’t wear bifocals. Now, even if they could remember my reading position, they are failing to comprehend that I can’t see anything that small, or close right now. So, even though my vision is better, I’m constantly having to tell someone that I cannot see whatever it is they want me to see.

I’m also not just talking about words.

The other day my son mentioned he had a splinter. As in, I’m helpless in this situation and need my mommy to doctor me.

I’m thinking a sliver? Really? I can’t even read what I wrote down because I can’t see it and you expect me to see something as small as a sliver?

I sent him to his sister.

If I get a hangnail I might be able to feel it, but I cannot see it. If my nails get a snag in them, the same thing. I’m constantly feeling my nails to make sure they are still smooth.

Typing is another issue. I can do it on my computer because I do know how to touch type. On my tech, it is a different issue. I’m never even sure I’m hitting the correct buttons. Fortunately, I’ve learned magnifying things makes it easier to read them. I have my tech screens magnified 125%. For Word, I have the page at 190%.

It’s not that easy to magnify things that aren’t on tech.

Did you know the camera feature on your tech can zoom in, magnify, what you’re looking at?

I do now. I’ve used my camera more in the last week than I did the previous year, though I’m not normally taking pictures. I’m just trying to read something.

However, there have been times I’ve just asked my husband to read it for me since he’s beside me. He’s been consistently telling me he can’t see it either and has never made any effort to get his reading glasses (which he does have) to help me out. Though I guess I should have expected this since he was always asking me to read things for him instead of getting his glasses and reading it himself.

So, with my husband beside me, I’ve had to call a child in to read something because he wouldn’t.

On top of all this, I’m dealing with a near-constant headache from eyestrain.

And now it’s the first of the month. Time to pay the bills, and I can’t see.                          

This is going to prove to be an interesting couple of months.

At least I will eventually have new glasses because, after all these years, it’s disconcerting to see my face without them.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

Keeping Busy by Bonnie Le Hamilton

Not too long ago there was a post on Facebook (probably a joke) about someone asking an avid reader what their favorite book was.

This did not go well, because as any avid reader would say, “You’re going to have to narrow it down a little.”

Just one look at my admittedly small library and you’ll see answering such a question is an impossible task.

I couldn’t even tell you my favorite author, and sometimes not even if you picked genre.

I mean, one look at the books in my bookcases and my reader’s library, and you’d figure it out, I like a lot of things, both non-fiction and fiction, and in several different genres. Everything from history and biographies to sci-fi/fantasy and romance with a large dose of mystery.

I have Linda Goodnight, Brenda Mitton, and Debbie McComber by the bucket load, but I also have Dick and Felix Francis, Agatha Christie, James Patterson (Alex Cross series), and a whole slew from the “Mrs. Polifax” series.

And let’s not forget “The Chronicles of Narnia,” The Wizard of OZ, the Harry Potter series including “The Cursed Child” though sadly only three Star Trek novels. I wish I had more.

And you want me to pick a favorite author out of all that?

Get real.

Another thing that happened recently is I finally acquired a helper. And one day not too long ago, she arrived just before I did, because I stopped to do some shopping at my favorite thrift store. Returning home with three new Naiveties and a stack of new books (new to me anyway). And my helper’s response was, “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

She also tried to tell me I have no room for more. I have more room because I acquired even more just a few days ago. Both books and Nativities.

This brings up another incident.

I currently work at my favorite thrift store. I can’t shop while I’m at work, but I certainly shop there when I’m not on the clock, which is what I was doing the other night with my helper and my sister-in-law in tow.

And, as usual, I found several Nativities and a few books I wanted. As I was leaving the store my boss saw me and asked if I found anything good.

My reply? “Well, I found six new Nativities.”

“Oh, you collect Nativities? So, do I. I have about a hundred.”

“I have over a hundred just in my front room.”

He said, “That beats me.”

And my sister-in-law said, “Nobody beats Bonnie.”

Actually, I’m almost positive there is someone out there somewhere who can beat my total. After all, I’ve only got a two-bedroom apartment to fill and there isn’t a single Nativity (or book) in the bathroom.

But with my helper’s assistance, my house is becoming a lot more organized. This past Monday with her help, we unburied a corner in my living room only to discover several things I totally forgot I had including a Nativity and a lighthouse shaped clock.

Now my helper not only knows my sister-in-law, but she’s also been to her place several times. Ergo she knows that among other things, my sister-in-law collects clocks, so on seeing that lighthouse, she asked me if I’d intended to give that forgotten item to my sister-in-law since it is after all a clock.

Well, see, it is also on the very theme, I have for the décor in my bathroom. I might have forgotten I had it, but on seeing it, I clearly remembered why I bought it.

It is now in my bathroom.

I also now have more Nativities and books in my bedroom than I did a week ago.

Meaning I’ve been very busy directing my very energetic helper in all this reorganizing and cleaning. But I’ve also been doing a lot of reading in what little spare time I have, which isn’t much because I do volunteer work on two of the three days I have off from my job. Though I do only work part-time and volunteer work only adds up to another seven hours a week, so I guess the problem really is all my reading, because well I haven’t gotten much writing done (like any beyond posting), and I haven't started making Christmas gifts for this year unless the count the ones I never finished last year.

Though I did manage in the last couple of weeks to put together two floral arrangements. I posted them on Facebook and showed some coworkers the pictures and I’ve received several comments about how people can earn money arranging flowers and that I should sell floral arrangements.

Guys, I have done two, I am far from experienced, let alone being a pro.

Anyway, happy writing all!

 

 

Of Space and Beds by Konnie Enos

 

Growing up our Aunt Loa had a small house. The main floor was just three small bedrooms, one bathroom, a living room, and a kitchen. Her only table was in the kitchen. It was always under the large window overlooking her backyard. Only four chairs were pushed up to it and one, on the far end, blocked the door to the basement when it was in use.

Since she had four children it meant they had to have additional seats to get everyone at the table. Under that window was a large bench covering the expanse from the wall by the basement door to the end of the kitchen cabinets. If need be she could fit six or seven kids on that bench at one time. There was always room at her table.

One of the three bedrooms was occupied by her and her husband but none of the bedrooms could hold three beds, and she had three sons plus a daughter. The solution was adding bedrooms in the basement. Again not large and barely held the beds they needed to. But no matter what, my aunt could always find a bed for everyone, even if it was in the open room downstairs and had to hold three or more kids at once.

That’s what I remember about my aunt’s house, there was always room for one more.

I thought it’d be great to have a house like that so when we got this house, I tried to think of ways to make it so, including getting a bench for one side of our table. Ours is not big enough to squeeze more than three people on it.

I made sure we always had a sofa bed. The problem is, we have to block the hallway to pull it out. To get the whole family around our kitchen table means someone (usually me) is sitting in the hallway. So between the two we can’t sit at the table and have the sofa bed out. That is unless nobody is planning on going out the front door.

My daughter has a wheelchair. I have a walker. This house is so small and so overfull, we can barely get them into our bedrooms. When my knee was out the doctors didn’t want me putting weight on that leg for several weeks but I could not use crutches and the wheelchair can’t even get much further than the doorway.

I ended up hopping on one foot for a few days then they let me use it, with support. My walker was sufficient support, thankfully.

The issue is, I have a small three-bedroom house. Only, unlike my aunt, I don’t have a basement. (Can’t have them here, something about the water table.) I didn’t have four kids, I had five.

We found out pretty quickly that none of our bedrooms had room for three teenaged girls. We played musical rooms for years trying to find an arrangement that worked but in the end, having someone sleeping in the living room is what worked, and still does.

One daughter moved out. (Married with child now.) One daughter is up at the crack of dawn and goes to bed right after supper generally. And she insists on opening curtains as soon as she gets up. She had a parakeet for several years, who died of old age last year, and she needed the sunlight so it was understandable. My daughter also likes things extremely quiet when she goes to bed.

The problem was her sister can sleep until noon and often stays up until late into the night and absolutely can’t have the sunlight streaming into her room.

They not only can’t share a bedroom, neither one of them can sleep in the living room. They wouldn’t get enough sleep for one thing.

Since their brothers can’t share with them, it means stacking them in the living room. A bunk bed in the living room.

We also have a bunk bed in the back bedroom and the other daughter has a trundle in her room. Both top bunks and that trundle are currently being used as extra storage space. Since both boys need a bed, it means the sofa bed isn’t even a spare bed.

I’m looking around my poor house and wondering where I’m supposed to put extra people. I mean I want my daughter, with her husband and child, to visit and Bonnie to visit. That’s four people I have no room for.

More and more, the idea of clearing out the garage and converting it to a living space (living room) sounds more and more appealing. And, of course, we have no money for such things. But it sounds like an excellent idea.

What do you think?

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

Of Full Bladders and such Emergencies by Konnie Enos

 Okay, I have to pee.

For me, the sudden urge to pee is an emergency. I absolutely must propel myself onto my feet and make my way to the bathroom, and the toilet. I must lift the toilet lid, and drop my pants, and do it all before I have pee going down my leg.

Considering it is only a matter of a few yards between where I sit while on my computer and the actual seat I need to aim for, one would think it is a simple matter to get that far without accidents.

Not so.

Let’s start with actually getting up off my bed.

First, I must get my computer and any other items in front of or near me out of the way. This is generally accomplished by me shoving this away. Quick and efficient. When possible. Sometimes I have to, as quickly as possible, put things away. Or at least some semblance of a way so they aren’t in my way and won’t get lost.

Next, I must swing my legs off the side of the bed. Now if I could do this without much bending of my knees it would also be simple, but usually, I have to bend at least my right knee nearly as far as it is possible to go. This is my worst knee and it often protests such abuse.

Now that my legs are off the side of the bed, sliding off the bed so my feet are actually touching the ground is easy.

With my feet planted on the ground, I’m mostly standing but I still have to straighten up and turn to face the bathroom. This generally requires some extra support. In my case, grabbing the handles on my closet.

Once I am standing and propelling in the right direction, I can usually make it that far without support at a nice slow shuffle. If my classmates back in high school could see me walking around now they would wonder what happened to the girl they jokingly called “Speedy Gonzales”. I mean we had five minutes to get between classes and I didn’t want to be late. I was often the first one to class.

I’m also fortunate that there is ready support for the whole trip if I need it.

Now at the bathroom door, I have the obstacles the closed bathroom door, or the child safety gate up, sometimes both. Hopefully, the doors not shut because someone is in there.

Now opening the door (as long as it isn’t locked) is not difficult.

The gate is another matter.

As a general rule adults can easily step over it. Partly because of my height, partly my weight, and mostly my arthritis, such an attempt would not be fast, easy, or graceful.

 Getting it out of my way as quickly as possible is my only option. Then I shuffle another yard or so to have to tackle the lid.

You see we have animals. Toilet lids are kept down in our house.

Luckily, I’m short so it’s not too difficult for me to reach.

Probably the easiest part of the trip, right up there with getting my pants off and sitting down.

The issue is, on my good days this takes me at least 30 seconds, some days it’s a minute or two. The major problem with this is that as soon as I start moving my body said, “oh good, we can empty the bladder now.”

You’ll find women of a certain age, particularly those who’ve had a baby, or two, bouncing on their bladder for a few months, have great difficulty controlling the flow. It’s worse for those who pushed said babies out.

I’m of that certain age and I’ve pushed five babies out, thank you.

Add arthritis making moving difficult and I’m having regular accidents.

I know this is a common problem.

How do I know?

Because if it wasn’t such a common problem companies like Poise and Depend wouldn’t be in business.

If not for those nice, extremely absorbent pads, designed for just this type of issue, I’d never make it past the foot of my bed without leaving a trail.

So instead I have to laugh.

Oh, the joys of motherhood and being a senior citizen. Though I shall continue to fight that last one because 60 ain’t old and I ain’t 60 just yet.

For those wondering. My eye is healing nicely and I can see again.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.